You didn’t download the app. The app downloaded you. The second you tapped “Allow,” you handed over more than location access. You gave it your patterns, your micro-delays, your insomnia cycles, your porn breaks, your heart rate, your heartbreak.
By someone who knows exactly how many unread notifications are on their wife’s phone, and it’s a war crime. Welcome to the Pingocalypse Congratulations. If you’re reading this, you’ve survived at least 60 seconds without checking a group chat, a Doordash badge, or that suspiciously enthusiastic poop tracker update (“Now with urine analysis!”). Your ability…